Whimper
by Epilachna
Summary: Kronos went to a lot of trouble to engineer his super virus. How did he know it would work? He tested it, of course. A short story in four parts.
1. The Dark Man

_**A/N: **__I'm writing this for Ro's 1,000 word February Fireplace Alliance challenge. A story in four parts._

**Part One – The Dark Man**

Michele opened the door. A man wearing jeans and a tee-shirt with a lab coat over top sat staring into a microscope. "Excuse me," she said. "Is this the virus diagnostic lab?"

"It is," the man replied. He didn't look up, and his voice was heavy with an odd accent.

When the man finally lifted his head and looked her way Michele blinked in surprise. Lab-guy might have been quite handsome, if not for the long scar bisecting his right eye, overshadowing the rest of his features. It wasn't ghastly, but it definitely stood out.

"Sorry," he said, "I was in the middle of something. How can I help you?"

Michele pulled a form from her pocket and handed it over. "I have some samples to pick up for the McDonald lab."

"I remember this one," he replied, "tomato spotted wilt. Follow me. They're in the negative eighty."

Michele followed him through the lab and out the back into an interior corridor. "Do you run this lab?" she asked.

The man laughed. "Slave labor," he replied, "the only legal form in the world. I'm a grad student, name's Kolvan – Donald – but people call me Kolvan."

"Michele," she replied, a bit surprised Kolvan was a student. Not that he was too old to be. He couldn't be much older than thirty-five and she knew plenty of born-again students his age. "So, you work on plant viruses, then?" He'd recognized the spotted wilt, after all.

Kolvan shook his head. "No. Human diseases. Filoviridae is my specialty."

Michele stared at him blankly. "Families of insects I know," she said. "Families of viruses … not so much."

"Oh? Don't you work with viruses?"

"I'm just the delivery woman today. Not a big fan of microbes. I prefer to work with things I can see with my own two eyes."

Kolvan opened the door at the end of the hall. It led to a stairwell. "Filoviridae is the hemorrhagic fevers," he explained, "Ebola – that sort of thing."

"They let you play with that stuff around here?" Michele asked as she followed him down the stairs. She wasn't sure she liked the idea.

Kolvan appeared amused by her tone. "We have a quarantine facility – in another building."

Michele was more than a bit relieved. "Good," she replied. "No offense, but I didn't haul my ass over here to die of mad cow."

"Mad cow isn't a virus…" Kolvan began, his scarred brow arching slightly at the point.

"I know, I know," Michele said, cutting him off, "prions."

"Very good," he said, impressed. He opened the basement door.

"One of the few things I remember from bio 101." Michele replied. She was often amused by the random factoids that floated around in her head. "So, what got you interested in studying Ebola?"

"Oh, I've always found plagues to be fascinating," Kolvan replied. "From the first time I learned that invisible specks of dust could wipe out civilizations, I've wanted to know more."

"Planning on taking over the world?" Michele asked.

Kolvan stopped in his tracks causing Michele to collide with his back. He turned and looked down at her with what Michele considered to be a well-acted expression of bafflement. "How did you know?"

"Wild guess," she said, laughing. "Some friends and I had that conversation not too long ago. We decided we'd genetically engineer prions into wheat, rice and corn so the whole world would get mad cow."

Kolvan's jaw opened slightly, closed, and then opened again. "An ingenious plan," he said.

Michele nodded, smiling. "Needs testing."

He looked at her strangely for a moment before whispering, "This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but a whimper."

Michele recognized the line. "T.S. Eliot?" she asked as they arrived at the freezer.

Kolvan shrugged. "Stephen King." He pulled open the freezer door.

"The Stand?" She laughed. "I loved that movie."

"So did I." Kolvan picked through the samples in the freezer.

"_The Dark Man_ …," she said and looked Kolvan over – black hair, icy blue eyes, scarred face, handsome in that villainous movie bad-guy kinda way. "I think you could pull it off. All you need is a pair of cowboy boots."

Kolvan closed the freezer. "And a bit of magic," he added, and led Michele back to the stairs.

"Don't forget immortality." She remembered something about The Dark Man living forever.

Kolvan smirked. "I'll have to work on that."

"Eh." Michele dismissed the idea. "Who'd want to live forever if everyone else is dead? Pretty boring if you ask me."

"Plagues never kill everyone," Kolvan replied. "Some will survive."

"And then we go back to the days of warlords and sheep? Sounds miserable."

"Only for the sheep," Kolvan said, grinning.

"Touché." Michele conceded the point.

Kolvan led Michele to the front foyer and there he handed over the samples. They were still very cold, and Michele wondered how he'd managed to carry them this whole time without his fingers falling off.

"Well, thanks for these," she said.

"Of course," he replied with a small nod.

Michele made to turn for the door but Kolvan's hand on her arm stopped her.

"I'd like to continue our conversation sometime," he said, "over dinner, perhaps?"

Michele was caught off guard. "Is that a friendly invitation to hang out or are you asking me on a date?"

Kolvan seemed to weigh his answer before he gave one, "I'm leaning towards date, but I'd be pleased either way."

Michele considered Kolvan for a moment. He was kind of attractive … and amusing, and he'd be a doctor, too, someday soon. She reached into her purse. "Here. My number's on the bottom."

He took the card and his eyes widened a bit when he read it. "_Doctor_ Michele?" He spoke her title with a hint of amusement.

"Bugs," she said, "not people. I hate people."

Kolvan laughed and his lips curled before he replied, "So do I."


	2. Deception

**Part Two – Deception**

Kronos spied her as she walked through the door. She wore an absurdly loud orange sun dress, but somehow the color suited her summer-tanned skin and the dark hair that hung at a bob to her chin. He'd wanted to grab her by that hair and drag her into the boiler room when they were alone in the basement.

_And Methos always said he lacked control. _

She saw him and smiled and took a seat at his table. "Good choice," she said of the restaurant.

"You've eaten here before?" he asked.

"There _are_ only five decent restaurants in town," she replied. She didn't even bother looking at the menu. "The fillet mignon is excellent – medium rare."

Kronos glanced down at the menu, puzzled.

"It's not on there. You just have to ask for it."

"Ah," he said and laid the menu on the table. "Beer or wine, then?"

Michele shook her head. "This place is BYO."

"I know," he said and pulled out a small cooler from under the table. "I brought a nice red – and some Guinness."

Michele eyed the selection. "Guinness? Careful there – or I might fall in love with you."

"Beer it is," Kronos took out a bottle and opened it for her before handing it over.

He watched her lift the bottle to her mouth. Painted lips closed around the mouth of the bottle. She took a swig and when she was done she licked her lips clean. Each movement was natural, without explicit intent, but that didn't stop Kronos from noticing, from watching her swallow.

Their waiter arrived at the table. He asked if they needed a few minutes, but they were ready to order. Michele took her usual and Kronos had the same. She smiled when he said he was 'taking the lady's advice'.

With their food ordered and waiter gone, it was time to make conversation. "Are you from Britain?" Michele asked.

"I suppose that depends on what you mean by 'from'." Kronos replied. "My passport is British, but I'm Eastern European by birth."

Michele had suspected as much. "I thought there was something about your accent that was not-quite-British."

Kronos laughed. "I never was very good with languages. It takes me a hundred years to pick one up." He took a swig of his beer. "And you're American, I take it."

"First generation on dad's side, third on mom's – Italian, Polish, Czech and Slovak."

"Ah, a fellow Easterner!" Kronos saluted her with his drink.

"More or less," she said, laughing. "Mostly less. I know about five words in Polish and that's it."

Kronos watched her take another sip of her beer. "I think I like Americans more than any other people I've encountered."

That was something Michele had never heard anyone say before. "Why is that?" she asked, curious.

"I don't know," Kronos said. He leaned back in his chair, considering his answer. "Something about how enthusiastically they embrace wickedness."

Michele nearly choked on her drink from laughing. "You mean like Vegas, the wild west … Al Capone?"

"Don't forget capitalism, manifest destiny, the 'big stick'. I admire a race that unabashedly prides itself on a culture of evil. So honest…" he tailed off.

Michele shook her head in amusement. "You like honesty, then?"

"I never was a fan of intrigue or deception," he replied. "I much prefer a direct approach."

"Well, on that note…" She pointed at his scar. "May I ask how that happened?"

Kronos lifted a hand to his face. "I was rather hot-tempered in my youth. I didn't always know when to keep my mouth shut."

"Let me guess. You took the direct approach."

That was an understatement of some immensity, if Kronos remembered those events correctly. "I picked a fight with someone who was bigger, stronger and better armed," he said. "Not a good combination."

"I hope you learned your lesson," Michele said.

Kronos nodded. "Oh, I did." Yes, he'd learned a lot that day. And soon thereafter the young warrior who cut him learned not to turn his back on Kronos. Or he would have, if Kronos had given him the chance to do so again.

Their appetizers arrived and they continued to eat and drink. They laughed at each other's jokes as the conversation wound its way through work, film, religion and politics. A short time later the waiter returned with their main course. It was the last thing Michele remembered.

*~*

He watched her stir. Her eyes fluttered open and her unfocused gaze recognized him.

"Where … where am I?"

Her words were slurred but he understood them well enough. "Somewhere we won't be disturbed."

"My head …" It throbbed painfully despite the fact she'd only had one drink. She tried to cover her eyes with her hands, but couldn't move them. Handcuffs held them firmly above her head. "What the…?"

"It'll be awhile before the drugs wear off," Kronos told her. "I had to be sure you'd come quietly."

"Let me go," she cried, pulling at the shackles binding her hands.

"Sorry," he said – his tone was anything but. "I can't let you leave just yet."

"Why?" she asked, her dazed mind growing ever more frantic. "What do you want?"

Kronos chuckled, then he took her chin in his hand and leaned down to kiss her, brushing her lips lightly with his. He withdrew, and without warning, pinched her nose closed with his fingers. He reached for a glass of water sitting on the nightstand and when she gasped for breath he poured the liquid down her throat. She choked on the water as it filled her mouth and lungs. When the glass was empty Kronos tossed it aside. He watched her cough violently as she cleared the water from her lungs.

"What I want," he said, as she gasped for breath, "is to see what happens next."


	3. Deal with the Devil

**Part Three – Deal with the Devil  
**

Kolvan dried her face – tenderly – but the touch of his hands made Michele feel sick. She couldn't think through the fog of panic and dread clouding her thoughts. All she could do was clench her fists and tug at the chains that held her in place.

In answer to her silent protests Kolvan grabbed her chin and jerked her face toward his. "Now, none of that," he said, his voice dark, threatening. "I wasn't planning on hurting you, but that doesn't mean I won't. I have quite a fondness for the sound of a woman's screams. Keep that in mind."

Even through the haze, the truth of his words registered and Michele stilled. She was no stranger to mortal terror. They were old friends. The waves of fear and helplessness crashed over her as they had so many times before. Memories surfaced – nightmares of being pinned to cold tables, stabbed and bled by doctors and nurses in white coats, and the sound of her tiny voice screaming in her head. Yes, she'd been this terrified before. Only this time the one holding her down wasn't promising to make it all better.

"What do you want?" she asked again, her voice trembling.

He smiled the same smile as before, only this time Michele saw through its surface – to something cold and maniacal. "I need to test out my baby – to see if it'll work. I considered picking up one of the homeless downtown, but then I found you..."

"Me?"

"Yes," he said, and reached out his hand to play with a lock of her hair. "After our conversation in the lab I knew you were the one. You made me realize that I needed someone … _worthy_ … of this momentous event, someone who could appreciate my accomplishments."

"I don't…" her eyes flicked to the empty glass and back up at him. "What have you done?"

His eyes grew distant and he looked past her, through the wall and beyond, to memories of things Michele was far too young to have known. "I've created the weapon of the future," he said. "For thousands of years I wielded the sword, but this …," he drew a vial from his pocket and showed it to her. "This is the end of time – the apocalypse. And I will be the one to deliver it unto the world."

Michele watched Kolvan's eyes ignite with the fires of madness. If not for the sharp sting of the metal cutting into her wrists she would have sworn this was a dream, a nightmare. "You're insane," she said, for no other words suited the moment.

Kolvan laughed. "A little, perhaps," he said. "But who wouldn't be after living in this world for four thousand years?" He traced the side of her face gently with his fingers. "I meant what I said earlier, about disliking deception. I wanted to tell you my secrets – and now I have."

Tears began pouring from Michele's eyes. "What have you done to me?" she sobbed.

"If everything works according to plan, I've just killed you, and if not … well, I'll just have to try a little harder." His eyes told her he'd be delighted either way.

"Kolvan … please."

"Kronos," he said. "My name is Kronos."

Michele shook her head. He wasn't making any sense. "The god?" she said, not knowing if she'd heard him right.

He laughed. "The titan, actually."

"Before the gods…" Michele remembered now.

"Yes," he said, nodding. "I was there … before the old gods had names."

"Crazy…" she shook her head.

"Perhaps," he answered, "but true."

Michele shook her head again, trying to convince herself that this conversation wasn't real, that Kolvan and the chains were a delusion she would wake from soon. She closed her eyes, but the sound of his voice, and that strange from-nowhere accent, could not be ignored.

"It's a hemorrhagic fever – my own special variety. This one is waterborne, or at least, I'm working to make it so. It needs some more testing before I can put it to use."

Michele shut her eyes tighter. It had to be a dream. "No," she whispered. "It's a dream."

Kolvan or Kronos, the demon madman laughed again. "Wasn't it you who told me you'd dreamed of the world's ending? You said you didn't want to live to see humanity destroyed. I've granted your wish. Now you'll be the first to die."

"I lied."

"Did you?" he asked, curious now.

"I don't want to die," she cried.

He was quiet for a long time and in that silence Michele dared once more to open her eyes. He was still sitting there, looking down at her, curling a lock of her hair around his finger.

"How about this," he said looking once more into her eyes. "I'll make you a promise. If you survive my little virus, I'll let you live – at least – long enough to see the world end."

"Please," Michele begged. She didn't want to die.

"Alright then," Kronos said, and smiled. "We have a deal."


	4. Worlds End

**Part Four - Worlds End**

_Some years later_

Michele was plunged into darkness when an electrical surge tore through the building. She pounded on the door and walls of her windowless prison. She screamed until her throat was raw, to no avail. Kronos didn't answer. He never answered. Not really. He came for his own reasons, to share his secrets, and other things... And then he'd leave her alone again in her cell. Michele tried not to listen to the terrible tales he'd tell. She tried to blot them out. She tried not to dream of the world's destruction. She tried not to wish it speed. But here, in this living hell, there could be no other dream but for the end to come.

It came at last, the beginning of the end. Not with a bang or a whimper – but with a game show.

Kronos' brother was on the TV. Kronos saw him. He had to find him. He had to _kill _him. Revenge, he said, for something Methos had done. That's what Kronos had wanted – revenge. But then, the plan changed. He returned with all three of his brothers in tow. He'd found them, he told her, all of them – the heart and mind, the strength and cruelty reunited at last. The end of the world was near at hand, and the horseman would ride again! He was so happy.

And so was she.

Kronos was mad – _mad_ – but still a man of his word. She survived the virus. It didn't kill her. And _he _didn't kill her. But he never set her free. In the beginning, she was thankful to be alive. She didn't know, then, what it was to wish for death. Not then. Not then. But now … How long had she been in this cell? What day was it? What year? What would he say the next time he opened the door? What would he do to her? She didn't know. She didn't know. _She didn't know. _And still she pounded on the door, calling Death by his name, begging for him to release her.

~*~

Beyond the soundproof walls, high above Kronos' secret dungeon, Methos was on his knees, weeping. The sound of metal upon stone echoed off the walls as Cassandra dropped the axe she'd lifted to end his miserable life. It was Duncan's command. He wanted Methos to live, and Cassandra owed him. She owed him so much more. And Methos? She'd always believed in a life for a life … and he'd saved hers only moments ago.

They weren't even. Not even close. But still. She dropped the axe to the floor and disappeared silently into the night.

~*~

Duncan sat for awhile with his head in his hands. He listened to Methos' strangled sobs as he wept for the monsters lying at their feet. He didn't understand, he couldn't understand, how Methos could weep for them. When his strength returned he wiped off his sword and climbed to his feet. He took one last look at Methos, wondering if he'd see the ancient immortal ever again.

He left Methos in the company of the dead, and traced his steps back the way he came.

~*~

Methos, alone, now, forever, lifted his eyes to the place where Kronos lay, his head now resting an arm's length from his body. His clear blue eyes – open still – pierced Methos' soul. Those eyes called him brother. They called him traitor. As they always did – and never would again.

~FIN~

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Reviews are appreciated, as always. Thanks to Wendy for the crit. _


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